The person who looks me in the eye, and can see past my lies The person who is a true allyA person in which presents all worries diesThe person who I owe a shoulderA person I would fight with as a brother, and soldier The person who is a real beholder I can never let our friendship grow colder

If you could separate your self from the stage,that would be great.-- but if you're going to make a political statementwhile accepting an award for your humanity,you might want to think about what your individual actions tell the world about you.

Who will listen?Who will ask?Looks like money once moretakes the last laugh.

Eventually pain became my friend.An ally I could trust completely.It would tell me when I was badly wounded.But this friend became an addiction.A toxic relationship with no escape.And when my mind wandered off to other places, trying to forget everything, it would drag me back into reality with no mercy.Scars can only heal if you leave them alone, but this friend ripped them up every night.I can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, but at least I knew I was still alive.

An old poem I found collecting dust on my computer. I've been busy with studying, so I miss writing poems. Oh well, I'll hopefully get some time to write again soon.

Please don’t say not all men, when me too becomes me three, me four, then twenty, two thousand, too many for boy to be boys or locker room talk.

We can’t talk away when men power grab for things they have no right to touch, with 140 characters insincere apologizes.

It’s time to man up and speak out and say that being a gentleman is more than chairs and doors. It’s less bro fists, shrugs and awkward laughs. Instead, it is not cool bro, and really man you know better.

Because we know better, we know what goes on behind closed doors, and only dealing with it when the doors are open is not a solution but a symptom of the problem.

Being a nice guy does not give you access to her thighs. Compliments don’t allow you to pass judgements and what she wears, where she goes and what she does does not mean a free pass.

If this culture thinks silence is permission than I will be loud until no one has to say me too.

You're there in the shadowsI hear your whispersI hear your footsteps behind meI'm never alone because you never leaveYou're even there when I fall asleepYou see me cryYou see me laughYou see me smileYou see me sleepYou watch and I feel it I feel your eyes on meMy dear Mr. StalkerOh how you comfort meI have never seen your faceYou hide behind that ski maskMy dear Mr. Stalker Why not show me at last